


Transformers: The Golden Age

by PrimeRadiant



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-12 18:53:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28890156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrimeRadiant/pseuds/PrimeRadiant
Summary: Millions of years ago, before there were Autobots and Decepticons, the two factions were united as Iaconians, occupying more and more of Cybertron, waging war on the Malignus-Estrela Empire and the remnants of the GoBots.This is a collection of stories about the elite Iaconians, the poor ones, and the warriors trying to save them all.
Kudos: 1





	1. Meet Science Team Six

Bitstream sat at her terminal, twirling a stylus between her fingers. Her head was propped on her palm, optics dark. “How much longer is he going to take?”

Bitstream got no answer, because she had been answered at least four times. She looked around the hexagonal tower and saw Nautica hunched over a stack of data pads, scrawling over a terminal; Geomotus, motionless save for his optics making small adjustments as he stared out of the tower out over Luna-5; Wheeljack pacing back and forth across the room with his arms crossed, three small spherical orbs floating just behind him; Mixmaster, pouring green stuff in a cup into a cup full of blue stuff back and forth, mouthing quiet joyful syllables to his substances.

“C’mon, Bits,” Wheeljack said, making a chop-chop motion on her shoulders. “He’s on his way.”

“Stop that. And he’s never late.”

Geomotus focused on the motion of several low-orbit spacecraft in the sky around Luna-5 as he spoke. “This has never happened before.”

“He’s having a complete body change. It’s highly non-trivial. Even someone like him needs time to adjust.”

“Oh. Oh Primus, yes. Yes! I did it,” Nautica said, backing away from her scribbles. “Guys, check my work. I did it.”

“Did what?” Wheeljack asked, coming over. “Can I see?”

Nautica’s visor flipped up. Wheeljack could hear her misaligned optics adjusting. “Skip down to line 11350.”

“Your voices are rising in pitch and I am disabling my audio sensors for one breem,” said Geomotus, unmoving.

“Nautica, this...this is amazing!” The sides of Wheeljack’s face blinked a blue-green. “You did it! You sidestepped Perceptor’s Lemma!”

“Yeah! Time travel is theoretically possible!”

Bitstream stood up and stretched. “That sounds like a big deal. What did you actually do again?”

“Okay. There’s 13 fundamental forces of nature, right? And at the middle of a black hole, there’s a singularity where regular old gravity and spacetime break down. But! If Gravity 2 and Gravity 3 interact with regular gravity in just the right way with an infinite amount of mass rotating at half the speed of light, then that singularity can become finite-sized and you can use it to travel to your own past via a closed timelike curve!”

“Uhh. Okay. You slipped something in there. You need an...infinite amount of mass? To force Gravity 2 and Gravity 3 out of regular gravity?”

“It’s theoretical, okay?!”

“Bitstream,” Wheeljack said, the command implicitly understood.

Bitstream pushed air through vents in her helmet and went back to waiting. “Sure, good job, whatever.” Nautica was beaming at her data pad, and backed it up 10 times, just in case.

“My audio sensors have been reactivated. Cybertron is rising over the horizon,” Geomotus said. A small hatch in his left hand opened up, and he withdrew a cylinder, a tetrahedron, and a cube from them. He watched the light glinting off of the shapes. “Cybertron’s gravitational field is distorting the crust of this moon a little less than usual everyday. Do you see this?”

“All I see is that it’s time to drink,” Mixmaster said. “Fresh engex all around, straight from the Drum, hee hee!”

“I’m up for that!” Bitstream said, reaching out for a beaker of frothing green liquid. A little bit sloshed out of the beaker, making a sizzling, burning sound on the ground. 

“Ah. Haha,” Mixmaster chuckled. “Heh. That’s...uh. That’s hydrochloric acid. Could you top me off, Wheeljack? Hee hee!?”

Wheeljack’s head-flashes were a constant dark red as he frowned and poured the acid back into Mixmaster’s slowly spinning drum.

And then the door opened. In came a purple robot with a single yellow eye. Everyone froze, including Wheeljack, who was pouring acid into Mixmaster’s drum.

“Shockwave,” Nautica said, speaking as though she were punched in the vocal processor.

Shockwave, the Science-Prime of Cybertron, remained in the doorway as if inert. Then: “Research Team. Hello!”

“I am not okay with this change that I am seeing,” Geomotus said, turning away from him.

“I mean, boss...we knew you were having some modifications, but…” Bitstream began.

“This is my optimal form. Note that every part of my body is a Classical Solid: cylinder. Cube. Hexagonal prism.” He pointed to his single, blinking optic. “Circle.”

“Everyone, relax,” Wheeljack said, walking towards Shockwave and standing in front of him, turning as if to shield him. His head-flashes moved from declarative blue to quizzical green. “You are okay, right?”

“I’m fine, everyone! I’m the same Shockwave as before.”

Nautica pointed for a second, and then said, “Yeah but now you have a gun arm.”

“Oh, this? Not exactly. It has many purposes! Watch!” He pointed it at Nautica, who flinched, but a red sinusoidal wave emerged, connecting with her data pads. “I can see the research you’ve been working on. First-rate stuff.”

“Y-you analyzed it that quickly?” Nautica asked. 

“I have thought about it and I have decided that I like the reasons you have changed your shape,” Geomotus said, turning back towards the group.

“Everyone, listen: I did this because we need more computational power than I had before. After Scorponok was...removed as Science-Prime, the Iacon Council authorized me to hire more Secundus members under my Prime-ship. But except to fill Scorponok’s vacancy, I didn’t want anyone else. Everyone in this room is almost all we need to come up with the advanced technology to drive back the Malignus Empire on Cybertron and crush the Diakrons. It was me that needed to change. My processing power is 25 times greater than before due to the simplifications of my physiology.”

“Just so long as you don’t turn into some sort of logic monster, boss,” Bitstream said, a rising intonation of worry in her voice that had not been used in some time. “We just got rid of one creep.”

“That is illogical. Do not--don’t worry. Now: get ready, all of you. I’ve found the final candidate for this organization.”

“Wait! Who is it?” Wheeljack asked.

“Someone back on Cybertron. We have to leave now.”

“Wait, what? You just came from there! Why didn’t you just tell us to meet you there?”

Shockwave stared at Bitstream.

“What?” she asked, shrugging. “Someone’s always listening in. For important stuff, we have to be super-duper secure! In person only for important stuff! Security!”

“Paranoia,” muttered Wheeljack.

“No, but really, who is it?” Nautica wondered.

Shockwave was already heading back out the door. “Somewhere, in the Manganese Hills, right on the boundary between Diakron territory and our territory, is someone who transforms into a time machine. And I’ve calculated a 91% chance that they’ll be captured by hostile forces in the next two solar cycles without our help.”


	2. Day of Aeterna

It was Mirage’s Day of Aeterna.

He sat alone in the antechamber to the ceremony hall. A hum of warm light from Cybertron itself gave the room a golden-white glow. He caught little glimmers of light reflecting off of his recently polished armor. He refused to look at himself in any of the mirrors surrounding him.

He felt chills throughout his body.

He kept looking at the silent communicator on his wrist.

He had been to dozens of these Conjunx Aeterna ceremonies. He mouthed the words and songs of the ceremony to himself over and over.

Then, a voice behind him: “Mirage.”

In a split-second, he withdrew a dagger from a panel under his left arm and whirled around. There was no one there, but he recognized the voice.

“Sphinx,” he said in a low register. At the sound of her name, she decloaked, an identical red copy of him. “You can’t be here now! The police-”

“I know. I’m wanted. Don’t worry about me. I’m better at invisibility than you are. If I don’t want to be found, I won’t be.”

“But-”

“It’s worth it to try to talk some sense into my idiot brother, one more time.”

“It won’t work, Sphinx. I have to do this. I have to marry Pyra.”

“No, you don’t!”

“Our clan chose me. If you hadn’t run out, maybe you’d be here instead of me.”

“Clan Overstar can’t control you. Didn’t I teach you anything? You should be free, but you still like building these little jails around yourself.” She jammed a finger to his chest. “And you’re going to be living a lie because you care nothing for Pyra.”

“Listen. Pyra is-”

“Pyra is not interested in you at all. Only in rising up to Prime one day.”

“That’s not true.”

“If she cares for you, that makes you worse! Pit-sake, you’re much worse than her! Not only will you ruin her life, but you’re going to ruin his.”

Mirage turned away from his sister.

“That’s why I came here today, Mirage. I won’t be at your ceremony, but consider this your ‘gift’.” She withdrew a communi-cube from her chest compartment. “This is from Thundercracker.”

“Don’t do this,” he whispered.

Thundercracker’s voice sounded thin in the cube. “Mirage. I know today is your Conjunx Aeterna Day. I know why you’re doing this. And I know I can’t stop you. But I know who you are, and how much you really care for what we had. For what we still have. I need you to know that I want you to make the right decision for you, not for me. If you change your mind at the last minute, you know where to find me. You have more to lose than I do, but I’m selfish and poor. I’ll be doing a tour in the war, so I won’t be able to reply. But I will be thinking of you. Goodbye.”

Mirage covered his face with one hand and nearly crushed the cube with the other. “You’re ruining everything, Sphinx.”

“No, you are. Grow up. Make the right choice. You have help. Thundercracker. Me, Ravage, Flamewar and the other Empties will help. If you want.” Before she faded away, she said, “They will never accept a half-Diakron in their upper society. Give up.”

Mirage could not tell how she escaped the room.

He looked again at the silent communicator on his wrist. He wanted him to call. He wanted to never hear from him again.

The ceremony would begin in three breems.


	3. Hauler

It was really hard for me to wake up today. I mean, I’m programmed to wake up at the same time every solar cycle. But I’ve got programs on top of that which automatically snooze for an orn or two. And programs on top of that that make me feel guilty for snoozing. So by the first billionth of a second after I wake up, I already feel lousy.

The building I live in rang a gentle chime as usual. “Hauler, oh Haaaaauler!” the voice came. “It’s your wake up call. Time to roll out.” Her voice was so cheerful that you couldn’t stay annoyed for too long.

“Okay, okay Steely,” I signed with one hand, struggling to sit up. I felt my pistons straining as I just sat on the edge of my bed-slab for a moment. Apparently I wasn’t fast enough, since Steelhaven came in over her “inner-com” again: “Honey? Are you awake?”

My faceplate twisted into a wry smile. I signed with both hands now, and gestured at holograms that I generated over my head. “Oh, come on, Steely. I know you can see everything going on inside you.”

Her voice was playfully angry now. “Only because you authorized it! Now, it’s time to get going!” A shutter opened up, and Golden Iacon was so bright that my optics hurt. 

I finally stood up and grabbed a tube of medicine. It had Nucleon, which makes me over-energized, but it also had a software-patch vaccine made of Nanomaster Insecticons that fights the Corrodia Gravis in my vocal system. Doc Flatline says if I miss even one dose, my voice will never be restored, but to be honest, I haven’t spoken a word in hundreds of megacycles, so I don’t know why I bother.

I hear a knock on my hab. Then the usual loud voice. “Hauler, you there? We gotta go!” It was Bluestreak, my business partner.

Steely chimed in. “Now, Bluestreak, you know for a fact that she’s not going to use her speaker box, so you’re just going to have to wait for a reply!”

I opened the door with a smirk, shrugging my shoulders as a collage of images appeared over my head: angry face / speaker box / two faceplates talking / skidplate getting kicked. “Yeah, I hate my speaker box. Talk to me face to face, you goofball!”

He chuckled. “Yeah, yeah. Okay. I’m taking the first shift while you build. Sound reasonable, O Queen of the Constructicons?”

Question mark / frown / magazine cover. “You’re never gonna let me forget that stupid interview from way back, are you?”

“Nope! Never! Now we gotta hurry-”

Steelhaven chimed in. “Aren’t you forgetting your escort?”

Bluestreak smacked his forehead. “Do we really have to do this?!” I made a shh! motion with my hand as Grand Slam arrived, his treads rumbling loudly as he exited an elevator.

“Hello all. I trust the morning finds you well,” the old gravelly voice came. I patted the small tank carefully. Once, I knocked into one of his missiles, which fired off into a wall. Even though the warheads were all gone, it left a dent in Steely’s side and she was a mess for cycles.

Two palms together / sword / one bot following another / oil house. “Greetings, knight! Will you lead us safely to the oil house?”

“Why, always, green one. Even for your boorish loudmouth friend.” Bluestreak opened his mouth to speak, but I shh’d him again. The rarest thing in the universe is a quiet Bluestreak. I made a sign for him: shrugging shoulders / begging hands / smiling face. Bluestreak shook his head.

We exited the elevator, walking about half as fast as we could since we were following Grand Slam. I looked back at Steelhaven, her blue-grey walls lined with framed images and holograms of her previous life, before the Titan decided to give up her mobile life to house us Iaconians. She and others like her welcomed us, the struggling, the starving, the jobless.

We walked down 332nd Street. Even way out here, Iacon was constantly busy. Pedestrians walked into the street and became traffic. At every intersection was a six-way stop sign: you could go forward or back, left or right, up or down. “Any news from the war frontier?” Bluestreak asked.

Grand Slam’s tread slipped out of alignment as we walked. I stopped and fixed it as he spoke. “Yes, indeed, chatty one. We’re losing ground. Nothing critical. Everyone out there is still in shock ever since the War General resigned.”

Head exploding / giant gun / sad face / bot on one knee. “I still can’t believe Megatron is giving up.”

“Too much violence,” Grand Slam said. “He felt like Iaconians were killing to conquer and no longer to just defend ourselves. And he’s right. It’s Iaconians vs. the Malignus. Iaconians vs. Gobotrons, and more. Did you hear there was a citizen who surrendered and demanded to be treated like the Gobotron prisoners? To shed light on all the shady goings-on there? The Council of Primes doesn’t know what to do with that guy or Megatron.”

Bluestreak asked, “What’s that guy’s name?”

“I have no idea. He was a student of the Boltax School, and they have lost their collective mind, but he’s out there, doing manual labor in the prisoner convoys. He said, ‘until these Gobotrons are free, we’re all enslaved.’ Unbelievable.”  
We walked and rolled down the bright, golden street towards our oil house. Someone told me that Iacon used 85% of the energy on the planet. The streets hummed with energy. There was so much of it that we had to vent it into space. And no one would ever believe it could ever run out.


	4. Resetting a clock

Azimuth peaked into her hab-suite nervously.

The lights were always on. Just in case. Shutting her door, she looked around her compact recharging slab, around ornate Klein bottles of ionized energon in her kitchen, in her polishing room with a buffing oil bath ready (she had to make sure rust spots never show up, even if she scraped off her polish being a little too careful).

Nobody was there. Or were they? Was she sure she’d checked every dark corner?

She sat down next to a window. Off in the distance, she could see smoke rising from the otherwise-quiet city of Spirex. Her news-reader was flashing updates directly to her optics: Spirex siege enters 60th cycle. Malignus-Estrela emissaries swear violence if Spirex tribute not paid. Central Iacon weighs its options about supporting Spirex, Helex during incursions. Ultima Prime accuses Caelus Prime of downplaying Diakron raiding.

Every headline gripped her and she couldn’t look away. She forced herself to turn off the news. She felt a warm chill surge through her. When was all this going to be over? When was normal going to come back? She remembered working with Whirl at the chronometer design factory before he went off to fight. Her cerebral circuitry anxiety glitching prevented her from joining Cyclonus and his Armada, a fact which brought her relief. 

But with no job, she would have to borrow more shanix from Swindle Loans & Rentals. She became aware of a strange empty feeling within her. Just by noticing it, it grew, and turned into something else to worry about: her suite’s Teletraan unit was flashing an alert.

“Warning: error C-12: system security compromised. Please make a note of it. Reboot system.”

“Uh. Oh Primus. Um, Teletraan?”

“System unresponsive. Please reboot.” 

“Okay, um...reboot?”

The lights all went out.

“Teletraan?” Silence. She gripped the arms of her chair. “Teletraan? Are you there?”

“Sssssss. Tel traan gran jhi. Xal ratrex silex,” a voice hissed through an intercom.

“Wh-what?”

A voice from the door: “Xal! Retrex! Silex!”

The door exploded, and a group of ten identical Cybertronians filed in. She screamed. All of them had her short stature. The leader in red said “Sa? Xaar silexi Xal?” The only feature of his face that she could see in the darkness was his strange black uni-visor.

“Who are you?! I don’t understand you?”

The Cybertronians laughed at her. “I will speak your gutter Cybex so that I am clear,” the leader said. “I am the Malig, Wind. Your reboot made it easy to disable your magnetic locks. My friend Kamaro here was telling you to beg Xal for a quick death.”

“Why!?”

“Shh now. Goodbye.” Wind raised a fist, and Azimuth felt herself raised into the air, some force lifting her and crushing her neck. She felt like she was being squeezed and pulled apart at the same time; did he have magnets in his arms? She felt thousands of cerebral neurons shutting down; time passed in slow motion, and yet, she could see her news feed popping up: feeling stuck or jammed? C’mon down to Blot’s A-blot-hecary! Get the secret moisturizer that’s taking Cybertron by storm! She wondered if that was really going to be the last thing she ever saw.

Then she was back on her chair, gripping the seat’s arms so much that they crumpled slightly.

“H-how…? What just…”

Her hab-suite was pristine. Her neck was not crushed. Her news-feed was still on.

Her personal Teletraan began flashing a warning again.

Don’t. Reboot. Whatever you do. Don’t, she thought.

She transformed into an atomic clock, a fairly-nondescript grey box in a corner next to her chair. Voices of the Malignans echoed through her door, becoming louder and more frustrated:

“Tel traan jhi! JHI! Xaar dezar xak Tel traan!?”

Her door exploded. She tried not to flinch.

“Where are you?” Wind asked. “We saw you come in here.” She heard him and other Malignans slowly fanning out through the apartment. “Hiding will only make the end worse for you.” 

The intercom replied: “That will go double for you!”

The Malignans spun towards the intercom and aimed weapons at it. Azimuth wondered whose voice that was.

“Why are you looking over there?” a voice suddenly asked from the chair. The Malignans spun again towards the figure in the chair. Someone was sitting there, fairly comfortably.

Wind shouted, “Who are you!?” The voice over the intercom began chuckling, and the Malignans exchanged glances with each other.

“Science Secundus: Nautica. The person you’re after is under Iaconian protection. You should give up.”

Azimuth heard nervous whispers: “Se-kund...xaar xod!?”

“So the Primes of Iacon sent out their fancy science squad for this person? She must be important. What if I just kill you right here?”

Wind fired, but the bullet went straight through the chair, knocking it onto its back. Azimuth shrieked. Before Wind could react, Nautica’s form flickered, appearing and disappearing throughout the hab-suite.

“I guess you didn’t hear me. I told you I’m a quantum mechanic. I’m in a superposition of states all over this room.”

“Don’t waste time explaining things,” a robot with blinking ears said entering the room, holding a large purple gun. “You got the target?”

Nautica’s wave function collapsed in front of Azimuth, embracing the trembling grey box. “Got her!”

The purple gun fired a loud burst of bright purple energy. From her position, she could vaguely sense that most of the attackers were suddenly gone.

“Whoa, boss,” the blinking one said. “You vaporized’em all. Did you really have to-”

Azimuth transformed back to her robot form, watching the remaining Malignans flee, all except for Wind, who stood trembling.

The purple gun transformed. Its face was a golden eye that blinked as it spoke. Why did they all blink in this group? she wondered.

“Stand up,” the purple robot said. “My name is Shockwave. We have come to retrieve you as the newest member of Science Team.”

“M-me? But...I’m just a-”

“We know everything about you. Out of the billions of Cybertronians, you have been chosen. Please stand.”

She felt Nautica lifting her to her feet. “Up you go!” she said, followed by the briefest whisper towards Shockwave: “go easy on her!”

“We’ve been lookin for ya for a long time,” Blinky Ears said. “I’m Wheeljack.”

The one behind her patted Azimuth’s shoulders. “Nautica,” she said with a smile.

“People, people,” the voice came from the intercom. “We need to get going. There may be reinforcements coming soon.”

“Yes, Bitstream, I know. Have you extracted what you need from our friend here?” Shockwave asked, pointing to the red Malignan.

“Yep. His name’s...Windcharger. Magnetic powers. Low-rank. Not worth much.”

Windcharger stammered, “I had….no idea Iaconians had this many outliers in their ranks...I don’t deserve to live.” A panel flipped up on his wrist and he smashed it with his fist, then paused in surprise.

“Yeah, don’t try that,” Wheeljack said. “Our cautious buddy back at the base made us all wear jamming fields before coming out here. That self-destruct button just won’t work now.”

“Your magnetic flux intensity has dropped immensely,” Shockwave said. “We came for this one here, but you are an added bonus. Wheeljack: take him back to the Diffeomorphism. It’s time to leave.”

Azimuth could hardly speak. Who were these guys? Did they want me because of that weird time blip I just did? 

She watched Windcharger walking in front of her; he was a prisoner, so at least he knew what was coming for him.

Why did this strange power activate just before they arrived? The question would not go away as she boarded their spacecraft.


	5. The Fuzzy Logic Oil House

We got to our bar, the Fuzzy Logic Oil House, a little later than usual. Skullcruncher let us in the back door.

“You glitches need to hurry it up! I don’t have time to deal with all these people today!”

Bluestreak and I looked at each other. “Oh, no. No no no. It’s Sentinember the first!” Bluestreak shouted. “Okay, I’ll take orders, and Hauler’ll go repair our broiler-”

“No, I need both of you manning registers. There’s too many customers! Hurry it up!” Skullcruncher was usually never this worked up. That what happens when you’re a perfectionist cook.

Confused face / shh’d mouth plate / energon bottle. “So you want me to take orders.”

“I don’t know what all your pictures mean but go take orders! Scribble them down and send them to me! Just go!”

I ran to the front. Skull had every reason to be annoyed. We’re all supposed to be partners in keeping Fuzzy Logic afloat, and here on the day when we could make a lot of shanix, we almost drown ourselves in losing impatient customers.

Bluestreak is really good with customers. It’s hard to stay mad at someone who talks to you so much that you forget why you were mad in the first place. He remembered everyone and every little detail they shared, whenever they got the chance to speak.

I had to take notes to tell you all the regulars we get and how he just memorized their usual meals:  
Ion Storm: sodium hydroxide shake  
Slash: selenium chips with extra coolant  
Warpath: gadolinium shavings  
Guzzle: a “No Known Weakness”, which is energon mixed in with a few drops of electrum  
Squeezeplay: a “Deep Space”, which is energon slush kept 77 rads above zero mixed in with some argon  
Moonracer: copper fries

Do you remember any of these people? I guess with your job, you didn’t have a ton of time to get out of the main hub of the city.

One day, I’ll bring you out here. When we find you.

People really thought my “picture-projecting” skills were useful. I just wave my arms like I’m showcasing a prize and menu items appear over my head. Streetwise tried to tap one of the images, which did nothing, and it was awkward. Then he just walked out of the bar without saying a word.

The Sentinember Parade was so loud that you could hear it over the roar of the people in our bar. This megacycle, the skies were full of people who chose alt-modes like Great Sentinel Prime, who died early in the war.

Late in the day, just like clockwork, Crosshairs walks in and sees Kup, already sitting in the corner, stewing over a video screen. “Hey Greenie,” Kup says, “Gimme the usual, for me and my guy here.”

Not-symbol / green square / angry face / green crane. “I’m not ‘Greenie’. Hauler.” I cross my arms.

“Yeah, yeah.” His usual reply.

Kup always wanted the same thing: straight up engex, no flavor, no positrons, nothing. A drone flies the drinks over to the two. I listen in while leaning over to clean up Steeljaw and Ravage’s bowls.

“You hear about this Convoy guy? That’s what they’re calling him. He doesn’t want his old name anymore. Voluntary prisoner. Crazy, huh?” Crosshairs said.

“Ahh, I don’t buy it. It’s a publicity stunt. He may as well be one of the stinkin’ politicians trying to make Prime one day. No, what gets me is what Megatron will do when he goes to the Council of Primes tomorrow with a plan to stop the war,” Kup replied.

“No way. Megatron, stopping the war? No way. Sixknight and Thunderclash won’t let that happen.”

“Now Megatron, that’s the kinda guy who should be Prime. Caelus Prime, Decanus Prime, Ultima Prime, just wasting time while we risk it all. Hey! I need another engex!”

As I was preparing it, a large motorcade stopped outside our oil house. A door opened, and he stepped into our bar.

Starscream. I’m sure you of all people remember him, and what he did.

The room got a lot quieter. Seats squeaked as they turned around to face him.

Yeah, that’s right. Starscream himself was in my bar. 

The motorcade transformed, and I could hear a faint voice saying “Motormaster checking in. Monitoring front of bar.”

Bluestreak stammered; Skullcruncher’s mouth was agape. 

“C-can we get you anything, Secundus Starscream?” Bluestreak asked.

“Please! Starscream will do. I’m just here on this fine Sentinember day to have a drink, like all the common people! I’ll have a superfluid, please.”

Now, do you know how much those cost? Not cheap! A helium superfluid is so hard to make that even Maccadam will do a double-take. 

Skull nodded and walked back to his kitchen, still stunned.

“I-I just want to say that I watched every minute of your trial to convict Flame after an aerial dogfight was, well it was amazing.”

“Why thank you,” Starscream said with a smile. “Being Iacon’s greatest lawyer and pilot is an honor I carry for your sake, for all Iaconians...sorry, didn’t catch your name?”

“Bluestreak! And the drink’s on the house!”

“Thank you, thank you. I only do what I can to help.”

Kup’s grinding and gravelly voice raged from the corner. “Oh can the scrap. Always believin’ your own hype.”

Starscream turned towards Kup with a faint smile.

Kup went on. “Just because you got a bunch of other idiots to copy your look and your alt mode doesn’t mean a thing. You aren’t out there on the front lines. And Flame said you frame all your enemies and force them to convict themselves. And now you’re trying to write the laws too? Gmme a break.” Crosshairs tried to silence him, and Bluestreak’s face was twisted in horror.

Skull returned with the superfluid. “Hope you like it!” He watched Starscream sip it, leaning forward as if he were waiting to hear the end of a gripping story.

“Wonderful. Simply wonderful. This establishment will receive my highest compliments. If only the locals here were as kind as you were. I would like to come back more often, and perhaps finish the repairs you’re making on your restaurant?”

“Why-yes! Yes, thank you!” Bluestreak shrieked.

“My compliments to the chef,” Starscream said with a smile. “And to you, Bluestreak, and...do I know...oh dear.”

Yeah, Starscream looked at me and said “oh, dear.”

“You’re a Constructicon! Working here in this-” he choked back a word, “-restaurant?”

I was too nervous to be coherent in my picture generation.

“Your visual projector...is this a Hound-ian design?”

I nodded; Hound had built this for me when I lost the ability to speak.

“I remember now; the Constructicon was ejected from the team after she couldn’t talk. Your story has moved me. I would like to continue this conversation. Please await my message. You will hear from me soon.”

I signed frantically: “But you don’t know where I live-”

“Don’t worry. We can find you. We will find you. See you soon!”

600,000 shanix were on our counter, just sitting there like glittering golden tablets.

That was more money than we made in a month.

Skull, Bluesteak, and I were frozen, staring at the cash. The bar began to pick back up, talking about how lucky I was.

“Ahh, idiots. All of you. Idiots,” Kup said. But I only remembered that he said that much, much later.


End file.
